The knight, the dragon and the necromancer. Daert dilogy-1

— Are there others like this among the officers?

— I think.

— Arrange a meeting with them. There I will address them — and you. Just hear me out once. And then decide what to do with me.

Gaston looked the most dumbfounded of the participants of the conversation. The mustachioed veteran looked from his commander to the young sorceress and couldn't say a word.

— All right, — de Leri finally decided. — I do owe you. I'll try to gather those who will at least listen to you before tonight. But if you don't convince them, I won't be able to defend you.

— It's all right, milord, — Rosa smiled warmly at the officer. — I know what I'm risking.

Bastien and Gaston went away, discussing something; Jeanne waited half a minute, and then disappeared too. Rosa had no doubt that if the captain tried to give up the spies, he would have a knife in his throat before he could say a word.

It was always work that helped Rosa cope with her anxiety, and now she was back at the hospital, tending to the wounded. Changing bandages, cleaning wounds, furtively relieving pain — and all the while moving so as not to be seen by the real nuns, nurses, and healers. Gaston found her at sunset, already exhausted. A moustached soldier, seemingly as excited as the young spy, led her through the camp to a large tent on the outskirts. Muffled voices could be heard inside, and Jeanne stood guard near the entrance. The necromancer's apprentice nodded to her friend and walked past.

The tent appeared to be the home of one of the officers. It was crowded inside, with eight men of varying ages gathered around a small folding table. Two were sitting on stools, and the others, including Bastien, were standing. They fell silent at the sight of Rosa. The necromancer's apprentice decided to take the dragon by the fangs.

— Good evening, gentlemen. — The girl touched her chest with her palm, but did not bow. On the contrary, she squared her shoulders and straightened her back. — I suppose you know roughly what you are here for. I realise it is not customary for a lady to introduce herself first, but our circumstances are unusual. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Rosa Granchi, mage, apprentice and assistant to Donna Vittoria de Morax, royal judicial necromancer. You know her as one of the rebel leaders.

— I am Colonel Simeon de Chelier of the Third Daert Regiment. — The eldest of the seated men rose. — The other officers here are company commanders of other regiments. Have you come on behalf of your tutor, master Rosa?

— No, — the necromancer's apprentice shook her head. — With her permission, but not on her orders. You see, Donna Vittoria sees this war as a conflict between two sides. Perhaps you do too. But I've always seen only my own countrymen on the battlefield, albeit under different flags. You'll notice I'm Iolian, of course. But I was born and raised in Daert. The people in the gorge, the people in this camp, they are the same to me. I see no enemies here.

— The difference is that some recognise their rightful king and others have rebelled against him, — said the red-haired, mustachioed man standing behind the colonel. Rosa thought he sounded sarcastic.

— A king who may have been involved in Queen Octavia's death. — Rosa caught the mustachioed man's gaze. — I do not claim that, but you must have heard such accusations. I can add others. Using powers he doesn't truly control, for example. Dangerous powers. King Auguste may have ruined our country. Literally. You've seen fire in the sky, haven't you? Your magicians told you about the scars behind the clouds?

— This is the Empire, — another officer gritted his teeth. — I don't know how...

— We know, — Rosa turned to him. — We, who you call rebels, are backed by more forces than you're told. Many of the Coalition countries are on our side. And through their connections, their intelligence, we know — yes, this is the Empire. Possibly some kind of magical weapon of terrifying power. Like the one Auguste himself used to incinerate Velonda. Judging by the places we saw explosions, it hit all the surrounding cities. And why do you think the Empire used it? The Imperials are hungry for our wealth, our lands, our new subjects. Why would they start a war like this? Wasn't it in response to the first strike? Our strike?

— You mean... — the colonel began, but Rosa, already quite enraged, interrupted him:

— I mean, Queen Octavia ruled for her people. If she had a weapon that could burn down cities, she could use it to bring about a lasting peace — without spilling a drop of blood, I'm sure. Auguste rules for himself. He is driven by ambition. Have you not seen the evidence of that? In the ashes of Velonda? A king who burned his own rebellious city in an instant, opened his borders to the nomads — for his power, for his glory. Will he strike at the Empire to go down in history as a triumphant victor over an age-old enemy? Does he care about the cost of this war?

— And what do you propose? — Colonel de Chelier looked the girl straight in the eye. Rosa clenched her fists:

— People who share Octavia's belief that Daert is a kingdom, not a crown, have gathered in the gorge. They fight against Auguste because they fear he will sacrifice everything for himself. I'm afraid they've already been proved right. We may be scorched earth around us now, and we may be the last Daertians on the continent. If not, the people of the kingdom need help. And for the sake of all who are suffering in the ruins of burnt cities, we must unite. Not under Auguste's banner.

— Under whose? — The colonel asked, still not averting his gaze.

— Under the banners of mourning, — Rosa answered. — For the rightful queen, for all those who have fallen in this war. We'll decide who replaces Auguste afterwards. First we must save the country. Protect those who are still alive, stop the war with the Empire. Otherwise, the new king will have to rule in ashes.

For a minute or two there was silence in the tent. The officers were digesting what they had heard, and Rosa was trying to catch her breath. She was so engrossed that she almost shouted at the end of her speech. At last Colonel de Chelier looked at the red mustachioed man and said:

— We must consider your words, master Rosa. How do we convey a reply?

— I'll listen to him myself, — she said with a confidence she didn't really feel. — I'll be at the camp.

She stepped towards the exit, pulled back the heavy canopy. She froze, staring into the impenetrable black sky. She looked over her shoulder and asked softly:

— Doesn't this night scare you? Not a single star...

Chapter 25

Rosa did not really go far — she found a wood chopping block between the tents and settled down on it, keeping the conspirators' tent in sight. Jeanne left her post and stood beside it. She said:

— I was eavesdropping.

— Good job, — the girl praised her, rubbing her thigh. Hiding the limp was still a challenge. Maybe she should have brought a staff.

— You improvised, didn't you? You didn't prepare a speech in advance?

— Yeah.

— I could see it. — The Guardswoman checked the sheath of her hunting dagger — unlike the throwing knives, she carried it openly. Rosa noted that her friend's fingers were tightened in black leather. Jeanne wore gloves, which meant she was ready for a serious fight.

— You didn't like it? — The necromancer's apprentice asked.

— Too lofty. — The guardswoman shrugged. — Should have pressed a little on the simpler things — greed, fear.

— We can't offer more money than Auguste is paying them, — the girl snorted. — Fear... well, didn't I use it? I just tried not to overdo it. Besides, I hope our new friend has chosen the right people to use lofty words on.

— You should leave the camp after all. — Jeanne put her hand on the sorceress's shoulder. — I can listen and pass on the answer.

— No, Jeanne. — The girl smiled weakly, covered her friend's palm with her own. — The fact that I'm here is important. For me and for them equally. Though for different reasons. In the past I would have asked you to leave, but now I won't.

— Because I won't listen anyway?

— No. — Rosa let go of the Guardswoman's fingers, touched her glasses. — It was more like... I was beginning to understand people better. Not everything that's good in my eyes is as good in someone else's. And everyone's idea of right and wrong is different. Jeanne, I don't want you to feel the pain of losing someone close to you a second time. I won't stop taking risks, but I promise you'll be there for me whenever possible. You'll always have the chance to die first. Will you be happy, Jeanne?

— Until my last breath. — The necromancer's apprentice thought the warrior smiled, but she blinked, and the obsession faded. Jeanne's face was stony again.

Captain de Lery came out of the conspirators' tent. Rosa thought that the officers had finished their debate and were leaving, but no one followed Bastien. De Leri looked for the women and went towards them. As the officer approached, Rosa could see that he had a clay jug in one hand and several pieces of bread and cheese in the other, placed on top of each other.

— They're stuck there for a long time, — the captain said, setting the jug on the ground. He divided the cheese and bread into equal portions, gave two to the spies. He deftly pulled three bronze cups from his pockets, slightly crumpled and greened. — There's diluted wine, almost water. And a snack. I'm sorry.

— The others are arguing, but you've made up your mind, haven't you? — The necromancer's apprentice asked and took a bite of the sandwich. The bread was a little stale, but the cheese was fresh and soft. Jeanne didn't eat it.

Bastien poured himself some wine and drank it in one gulp. He sighed:

— Yeah.

Rosa waited for a continuation, but the officer silently began to chew bread. Jeanne moved behind his back — she seemed to interpret the captain's behaviour in the worst possible sense. The enchantress caught the guardswoman's gaze, shook her head faintly. So they waited in silence, under a black, starless sky. Until a trumpet sounded from the outskirts of the camp.

— "Scouts is back"? — De Leri perked up. — 'But we didn't send out a scouting party. Or is it...

The second signal Rosa recognised. "Help required." She jumped up:

— Come on, let's have a look.

Already on the run the girl looked back. The officers, led by the colonel, were rushing out of the tent. Some of them rushed away — to their companies, apparently. But de Chelier himself went to the same place where Rosa had gone — to the sound of the bugle.

On the road leading eastwards, people were entering the royal army camp. Not a column, but rather a crowd, stretching along the roadside. Almost all of them on foot, only a couple of dozen on carts or horseback. There were over a hundred of them in all, men and women, old men and children, in tattered clothes covered with dust. By torchlight, Rosa could see burns, festering blisters, skin peeling off limbs, fingers with nails falling out. Many had blindfolds covering their eyes and were led under the arms. The ghastly procession was led by a young man in the uniform of a light cavalryman. He walked first, leading a horse with three children in the saddle. The soldiers, who had fled at the alarm, stomped round in confusion, not knowing what to do. Colonel de Chelier stopped the cavalryman with a commanding gesture and asked:

— Are you one of our messengers? Who are these people?

— Simon Charpente, milord. — The young man was visibly shaken, but he stretched and raised his arm in salute. — First Mercilian Regiment, scouting company. Sent to the town of Truffaut to investigate the situation. And these men are Trufonians, my lord. From the suburbs. And another village near the town. Truffaut is gone, milord. You can't even see the fire inside the walls, everything has burned out, apparently. The suburbs are still smoldering.

— We sent messengers in pairs, several times. And the dragon knight, — the colonel continued to inquire. The mutilated men wandered idly past, winding around them on both sides. — Where are they?

— My partner... stayed there. — The cavalryman waved his hand uncertainly to the east. — Dead, may be. Haven't seen the others. Milord, the surrounding countryside is infested with demons. They eat everyone they see, capturing corpses... We had two mages and a priest with us, and that's how we got out. If anyone in Truffaut survived the attack, they're finished. The surrounding villages are doomed too. We walked during the day, hid at night. Today we decided to go to the last, even in the dark.

— Scars in the sky, — Rosa said quietly, standing behind the Colonel. — The explosions over the cities have thinned the barrier between the worlds. And the gaps aren't closing. The predators are coming for the scent of prey. Steel won't stop them. But demons are half the problem. These men are dead too, milord. If they were in the suburbs, they were struck by a surge of raw magic. Now their bodies are rearranging themselves chaotically inside, destroying the very matter they're made of.

De Chelier turned to the girl. Looking into his eyes, Rosa continued:

— Put all the refugees in detention. Some of them will begin to change in dangerous ways. Were you in the last war? You might have seen something like this. Kill these people in the name of mercy. The others will die on their own. Apart from the villagers, these might be far enough away. They're the ones who'll need help.

— Go, — De Chelier said dryly to the cavalryman. — The general had ordered that messengers be sent to him at once, at any time of day. You will be allowed through. Report. You, — he turned to his companions, — take care of the refugees. Put them all in the southern hospital, and transfer the wounded from there to the northern hospital. I want nurses and guards.

A moment later he and Rosa were practically alone — except for Jeanne and the sentries standing in the distance. Even Bastien had gone to fulfil his orders. De Chelier looked up to the sky. His silence was long. The flames of torches flickered in the wind, the magic lamps hung from tall poles swayed. Shadows danced on the earth ramparts, on the timbers of the fence, on the dusty ground trampled by hundreds of feet. Rosa waited patiently. Finally the colonel looked at her:

— Can you prove that you know Donna Vittoria personally?

Rosa unzipped the medicine bag without further ado. A tiny grey mouse crawled into her palm. Signor Jacques was no longer tangled in his own paws, though he moved a little sluggishly. The girl showed it to the officer, then tickled the animal's belly. The mouse opened its mouth wide and spat out a piece of paper rolled up in a tube.